


The Wonder of You

by mldrgrl



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fluff, New Relationship, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 02:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19286146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mldrgrl/pseuds/mldrgrl
Summary: She never stays the night and he wonders why, but he won’t ask.





	The Wonder of You

She never stays the night and he wonders why, but he won’t ask.  He doesn’t think anything is wrong. Certainly, she comes to him freely, of her own volition, showing up night after night in casual sweaters and a six-pack of beer, or Chinese, or a pizza.  They watch movies pressed up against each other like an inch of space is too much. Her hand might find its way up his shirt or unbuckling his belt just as easily as his fingers weave through her hair or his mouth meets the swell of her breast.  They’ve made use of almost every available space he can lay her down on; the couch (naturally), his bed (obviously), the floor (too hard on the knees), the table by the door (a personal favorite), and his desk (a little too precarious). He knows she has a good time, or several, but she always vanishes before the sun comes up and he wakes with a smile on face that fades as soon as he rolls into the cold side of the bed.

 

By day, it’s like nothing has changed.  She still argues with him, still calls him crazy when he rambles too long about his latest case theory, and she’s still as skeptical as ever, not that he expects or wants anything different.  By night though, by night she’s something else. She laughs easily, she’s more playful than he could’ve imagined, and she’s less skeptical of his theories (Think that table will hold, Scully? Only one way to find out.)  It’s all so perfect, if not for the disappearing act.

 

She knocks on his door precisely at seven.  This time, she has beer and microwave popcorn - buttered, for once.  He takes the bottles from her and cradles the case one-handed as he helps her shrug off her jacket.  She kisses the corner of his mouth, one hand on his cheek, and breathes deep.

 

“You smell good,” she says.

 

“Showered earlier,” he answers.  “You don’t have to bring anything, you know.  You’re enough.”

 

“I know.”

 

Her index finger twists into the belt loop at his hip as she follows him to the kitchen.  He went shopping after work and he’s sure to show off his fully stocked fridge as he places the beer inside.  She raises her eyebrow, impressed.

 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says.  “I can cook.”

 

“I didn’t say anything.”

 

“No, but you’re thinking it.”

 

“When have you ever cooked?”

 

“I’ve had to fend for myself since I was 12.”

 

She presses her back to the closed refrigerator and tugs him closer by both belt loops so that he’s leaning over her with his hand draped across the top of the freezer.  His forehead rests against the top of her head and this time he breathes deep.

 

“You smell good too,” he says.

 

She doesn’t answer, but traces his mouth with both thumbs.  He doesn’t care if the world falls apart around them right now, he likes this little bubble of intimacy they create sometimes, when it’s the two of them and they’re pressed close and her breath is on his face and her cheek feels so soft under his palm.

 

“Can I make you dinner?” he asks.

 

“Right now?”

 

“Any time.”

 

“Sure.”

 

He can’t bring himself to ask if he can make her breakfast, but he hopes she saw the bottle of orange juice, the carton of eggs, the slab of bacon so strategically placed front and center of his stockpile of groceries.  He hopes she’s spotted her brand of coffee on the counter and the sleeve of bagels on the cutting board. She’s an investigator for chrissake, and he’s being very obvious.

 

“But, right now is good too, if you’re hungry,” he says.  “I can whip something up.”

 

“Mm.”  She nuzzles his jaw with her nose.  She’s not hungry. If she were, she would’ve brought more than the beer.

 

He rolls and dips his head to give her easier access to his mouth.  She brushes her mouth against his almost in passing. He parts his lips for her, but pulls back just a fraction of an inch.  “Don’t you want to watch the movie, Scully?” he whispers.

 

“What movie?”

 

He chuckles and brings both hands to her face to hold her still so he can kiss her properly.

 

Late in the night, as they’re twisted together under sweat-damp sheets, he tries and fails several times to ask her to stay.  He stays awake long enough to feel her disentangle herself from him and turn onto her side, her back to him. Under a sated stupor of exhaustion, he turns with her and presses a few sloppy kisses onto her shoulder.  She sighs and he sighs as well. He puts his arm over her and curls into a question mark behind her.

 

The faint blare of a car alarm wakes him in the morning.  The room is still grey, but it could be early or it could be late.  It’s raining out, wind lightly rattling the windows. He’s on his back, head tipped towards the outside of the bed with his chin resting on his shoulder.  He blinks his eyes open and yawns.

 

Beside him, Scully stirs quietly and he freezes as she rolls over and blindly reaches for him.  He brings his arm up and she snuggles into his side, still asleep as far as he knows, and rests her head on his chest.  She’s got one arm slung heavily across his waist and one leg draped over his thigh. He breathes as softly and quietly as possible, but his heart is racing.

 

In the few minutes before she stirs again and stretches against him, a million thoughts run through his brain.  He wonders if she’ll wake and feel like she’s made a mistake. He wonders if the awkwardness they’ve been so blissfully avoiding will rear its ugly head.  He wonders if she’ll run out on him or if she’ll at least let him make her coffee. Mostly, though, he just keeps telling himself that she’s here and strokes her arm as though he can’t quite believe she’s real.

 

“Is that rain?” she murmurs.  Her voice is so sleepy and slurry.  It makes him smile. 

 

“Yeah,” he answers.  In contrast, he sounds gravelly and deep.

 

Her toes flex against his shin and she slides her hand up his chest.  She traces lazy loops over his heart with her index finger until he reaches up and covers her hand with his own.  She lifts and curls her fingers until they’re clutched together with his and he brings her arm up to kiss the inside of her palm and wrist.

 

“Good morning,” he says.

 

“Good morning.”

 

“How’d you sleep?”

 

“Good.  You?”

 

“Never better.”

 

Thirty heartbeats later, he counts, she slips her hand free and pushes against his chest so she can rise up, propped on her elbow.  She shakes her sleep-mussed hair back from her face and gives him a soft smile.

 

“You know how to scramble an egg?” she asks.

 

“I know how to scramble lots of them.”

 

“I think two will be enough.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Okay.”

 

They stare at each other with shy, half-smiles.  She looks away first and he sits up and presses his face into her neck.  She tips her head against his and runs a hand over his face. He’s longing to ask her why now, what’s changed, but he doesn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth.  It’s enough that she’s here and it’s Saturday. They have nowhere to be, that he knows of, and don’t need to rush. But, he promised her breakfast and so he does need to get to the kitchen.

 

He heaves himself up and searches the floor for a pair of boxer shorts he knows were thrown off the foot of the bed last night.  He finds them, slips them on, and stretches his back as he heads to the bathroom. When he comes out, Scully’s no longer in bed, but he finds her in the kitchen, wearing his wrinkled t-shirt that was also discarded rather hastily the night before.  She’s fiddling with his temperamental coffeemaker.

 

“It’s a little temperamental,” he says, moving to flip the switch on the side and to jiggle the filter, but she puts her hand on his.

 

“Show me,” she says.  “For next time.”

 

His knees almost buckle and his stomach flips.  He bites the inside of his cheek to hide his grin and shows her how to tame the quirky machine.  

 

The End

 


End file.
